


Holiday From Hell

by spycandy



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: “I bring glad tidings brother. Your vacation time has been approved.”Lucifer makes it back to LA, but can his siblings cope with Hell?





	1. Chapter 1

Ash falls, souls suffer, Lucifer sulks. For a while, despair had at least kept boredom at bay. But it is impossible to keep up such a pitch of misery forever, even with no hope of joy ever again.

Time passes in Hell, much as it does when watching an empty baggage carousel at an airport, only without the hope of ever getting your precious belongings back or being released to new adventures.

Nothing here tastes good, everything smells sulphurous and there is no music – only the repulsive damp croaking of the lava toad colony that has moved in near the foot of his throne.

To pass the time, he visits the hell loops of some of the murder victims whose cases he helped to solve and tries to let them know that justice was done after their demise. It doesn’t seem to help any of them much, so he adds a few improvements to the loops where he can. There’s still soul-searing guilt, but at least there’s pancakes for breakfast.

However, breakfast reminds him too much of what he has lost, so he flies back to his high throne to dwell on the many morning meals he is missing out on.

***

“--cifer! LUCIFER!”

His thoughts are yanked back to the present by the frowning, spear-wielding angel hanging steadily in the ashy air before his throne, wings extended behind her. 

“Remiel? What do you…”

“I bring glad tidings brother. Your vacation time has been approved.”

This seems like an odd overture after aeons of hostile silence between them. But Remiel is holding out a piece of official-looking paperwork, so Lucifer takes it. It glows with a soft divine light.

“Leave Request,” reads the heading, and it is covered in signatures. Amenadiel’s tops the list, then Linda, Azreal, Remiel and Maze. He skims past them to the name that makes his heart leap with hope. Chloe. She still thinks of him, perhaps still feels the way she claimed to on that last painful evening on Earth.

There are other names too, his human friends and his employees at Lux have all petitioned for his temporary release. A large red ink stamp at the bottom of the sheet proclaims the request “APPROVED”.

“Is this real?” he asks, then sighs. “As much as I want it, I still can’t leave Hell unguarded.”

“That is why I am here as your holiday cover,” says Remiel. “I volunteered.”

“But…”

“Brother, I know we haven’t seen eye to eye in a very long time. But I failed to protect Baby Charlie and you are sacrificing yourself here to save him and all of the humans. I believe you have earned the break and I will take on your burden for a while. So. Off you go.”

“All right,” he says, still struggling to believe in this. That his friends have not abandoned or forgotten him, that his long-estranged sister would freely offer to take his place for – he glances back at the paperwork – a whole two weeks.  
And he is wasting precious seconds of it already.

“Thank you Remiel,” he says, unfurling his wings. “I’ll see you in a fortnight.”

In retrospect, a quick handover briefing at this point would have been wise. But he’s already tasting the glorious ash-free salt-laden traffic-polluted air of Los Angeles.

***

Having reached Earth, he hesitates.

Of course, he wants, above all other things, to see the detective, but he is hardly in a fit state to turn up at the precinct and sweep her off her feet. No – first he should shower away the horrors of Hell, put on a delicious clean suit and then arrive at her door with the finest flowers. Best foot forward and all that.

This is all true, but as he is uncomfortably aware, it is also an excuse to postpone the moment, to delay the risk of rejection, to feel hope for just a little while, even if it is edged with fear that makes his insides churn. Has it been long enough for her to change her mind? To find someone else? To give up on him for abandoning her? And if he can only offer these two weeks and nothing more, will she want that?

He needs help to bolster his flagging confidence. And there are other people he is keen to catch up with. Luckily, he can do both at once. He heads for Linda’s. 

“Wonderful, you made it!” says Linda, reaching for a one-armed hug as she bounces Charlie on her hip with the other arm. The child is larger and more alert to his surroundings, but not much so. 

“How long…”

“It’s been just a few weeks here,” Linda answers, leading him to the sitting area. “How long has it been for you?”

“Longer.”

Linda is quiet in response and Lucifer realises they have sat down in classic patient-and-therapist fashion, apart from the baby gurgling happily on his therapist’s lap. Is she waiting for him to talk about his time in Hell? It was hell, what more is there to say about it? He deflects by asking what he has missed in LA.

“Everyone’s well. There haven’t been any demons other than Maze around. Ella’s coping well with being in on the Angel Thing.”

“Ella knows? I saw she signed the paperwork but so did most of the Lux bar staff. Do they all know?”

“After you left, your sisters turned up to help out and apparently Ella’s known Azreal for years, just not the, er, Angel of Death bit. No one else knows and Dan is convinced that you work for MI-6 (long story, Amenadiel’s fault). Don’t worry about Ella, the only person more firmly on ‘Team Lucifer’ is Chloe.”

“And how is she?” He fails to hide the nervous wobble in the question. 

“Single-minded, determined, sad. Chloe and Amenadiel have been pretty busy working on getting you back. May I ask, why did you come here rather than to her?”

Damn, is he so transparent? He tries the excuses he’d given to himself. “I could hardly show up at a crime scene looking like this.” He spreads his arms wide to show just how caked in infernal filth he is. “Oh – I’ve got ash on your furniture. Sorry doctor.”

Linda gives him an understanding look but doesn’t pursue it for now. “So, Lucifer,” she says instead. “Before you had to leave, I believe Amenadiel may have mentioned to you that we’d like you to have a formal role in Charlie’s life…”

“And I told him, you can’t have the Devil as a godparent. It’s literally right there in the service: ‘All the godparents mumble: I renounce Satan.’ I can hardly renounce myself, can I?”

“No,” agrees Linda. “And I would never ask you or any of our friends to do that. Which is why we’re having a non-religious naming ceremony next week. And we’d like you to be Charlie’s Oddparent.”

“Oddparent,” he laughs, touched that Linda has gone to such lengths to include him. “I like the sound of that. What would it entail?”

“Just… to be there for him. Someone he can turn to if he can’t turn to us. Someone he can run to when he hates us for making the sensible parenting decisions. Or if we make bad decisions. Someone to be his safety net…”

“…and catch him if he falls,” finishes Lucifer for her. “You’d do that for your son?”

“Of course. What kind of parent would I be if I didn’t want to protect my baby, from everything?” She indicates the bubblewrap still tied around the ceiling fan. “Including us. Will you do it?”

There’s a lump in his throat, stopping him from giving his answer. He nods instead. Come Hell, high water and any other peril he will makes sure Charlie never has to fall alone, as he did. 

“Lucifer?” says Linda. “Those are happy tears, right?” 

It’s more like happy ugly-crying, made all the worse by the fact that hell ash gets everywhere and is now apparently leaking out of him as disgusting gray hell-snot.

Of course, this is the point at which the detective bursts through the door.

“Lucifer! I came as soon as… Oh.” She looks crestfallen at the sight of him. He can’t blame her, this is not a good look. “Did you..? Did we get it wrong? We thought you’d want to come back.”

“Happy crying,” clarifies Linda, in an audible stage whisper.

“Really?” asks Chloe.

“There was a lot of love and hope in the room,” says Lucifer, still sniffling, but the embarrassing boo-hooing seems to be under control as he gets up to greet her. “I was going to come and see you as soon as I’d got myself cleaned up and presentable.”

This is certainly not how he had imagined their reunion, torturing himself over and over with the impossibility of it.

“No, no it’s better this way.” She’s holding him gently, her hands on his arms. Her eyes are shining. He’s never, ever, seen anything more beautiful.

“Dishevelled and covered in hell-snot is better how?”

She laughs. “Now I can see that you’re just as much as a mess as I’ve been while you’ve been gone. Now go and wash your face, because no matter how much I love you, I’m not kissing hell-snot.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ash falls, souls suffer, demons cavort. Hell is endless misery and purposeless chaos.

Even from the towering throne, the cacophony below is appalling. However hard she tries to ignore it and dwell on other things, a ceaseless phlegmy croaking intrudes on her thoughts.

Time ekes by, with nothing to show for it but noise and unvarying gloom. She is no longer sure how long it has been since Lucifer left. Maybe he is never coming back. Maybe God has decided she deserves to take his place forever.

She tries singing to herself, but even though Remiel knows that she is incapable of singing anything other than perfect pitch, the notes will not shape and fall flat in the air, before being drowned out by the AWFUL AWFUL CROAKING.

If she is to be trapped here eternally, she can at least do something about that. She grasps her spear and launches herself towards the source of the racket.

***  
With what Lucifer regards as remarkable optimism, Chloe has already booked two weeks of leave for herself and arranged for Dan to have Trixie for the next few nights. A longer-term solution will be found, she insists (and he is trying very hard to believe this) but if all that’s guaranteed right now is a holiday romance, she makes it clear that she intends to make the most of the next two weeks.

They get three days.

They are lounging beside the pool at Lux when Amenadiel lands, the great span of grey wings briefly blocking out the sun before he folds them away.

Chloe shrieks and grabs a pool towel against her chest, having apparently forgotten that she is, for the moment, what even she would consider decently dressed for company, with shorts and a delightfully flimsy white shirt still pulled on over her two-piece swimwear after their late morning outing to Lucifer’s favourite nearby brunch place.

“Remy’s in trouble,” announces Amenadiel. “I’m sorry to intrude, but her prayer sounded urgent.”

“What did she say?” asks Lucifer, already grabbing his own shirt off a nearby sun lounger. He probably shouldn’t go to hell in nothing but swimming trunks and flip-flops. The look just doesn’t carry the necessary authority to resolve whatever infernal crisis Remy has landed herself in.

“It was very unclear – more of a battle-cry than a message. But I do think something is wrong.”

Lucifer tries to ignore the dread that this is it. Not just the end of his holiday but the end of all hope.

“Detective, I…” he flounders. Do they have to do this again?

“Go. Fix it. Come back in time for our dinner reservations,” she says. It’s so different from their last painful parting. She must realise that once again their reunion is by no means certain, let alone their evening plans, but she is trying so hard to make this easier for him.

“What if I can’t?”

“I love you,” she replies. “And I will see you later.”

***

Remy is not at the throne, but it doesn’t take long to locate her, following the distressed screeching of various hell fauna nearby.

She is pinned in the gangly embrace of a long-limbed, grey-skinned demon, standing at the centre of a large new crater, which is scattered with entrails, charred flesh and slime. More demons lurk at the crater’s smouldering edge, some of them groaning and nursing obvious wounds.

“Unhand her,” demands Amenadiel as they land, ready to fight all-comers if necessary.

The demon looks up but does not loosen its grip on the angel. Lucifer recognises the gaunt features of Eckosh’Trellion, a remarkably boring and level-headed mid-ranking keeper of souls, who looks terrified but shakes his head in refusal. Remy sags in his embrace, muttering unintelligibly.

“Hold, Amenadiel,” says Lucifer. “What happened here Trell?”

“She started smiting the lava toads, sire,” says the demon. “Obviously that caused the harpies to kick off and it all got a bit out of hand from there.”

“And what exactly were you doing to our sister?” asks Amenadiel, with more than an edge of menace.

Trell quails but still holds fast. “Holding on until she calms down,” he says, still addressing Lucifer. “Or until you came back, sire."

“Remy? Do you know where you are?”

The angel takes a moment, clearly struggling to focus like a severely intoxicated human. “Hell,” she whispers. “Is my time up?”

Lucifer sighs. She certainly cannot manage another eleven days here. “Take her home, brother,” he says, forcing his voice to remain steady. “And please pass my apologies to the detective that I cannot return to her.”

Amenadiel looks as if he is the one about to cry as he lifts his sister from the demon’s custody. “Brother, I will return,” he says. “We will find a way to share your burden.” And with a whoosh they are gone.

Lucifer badly wants to retreat to his throne and despair for a while, but Trell is bowing low and addressing him. “Sire, if I may, I have a suggestion.”

Lucifer shrugs, which Trell clearly takes as permission. “You don’t need a Regent so much as a Prime Minister.”

“Go on.”

“That way, you could go off to Los Angeles like Queen Elizabeth goes to Balmoral and pop back for some ceremonial things from time to time, while us demons get on with the day-to-day running of the place. More of a constitutional monarchy, as it were, my lord. We’d need some of your celestial brethren and sistren willing to pull shifts as messengers, of course, in case we need you urgently. But they wouldn’t need to do anything other than wait around. And we could lodge them well away from any lava toads.”

“Elizabeth?” says Lucifer, stuck on the idea of himself as an old lady in a spectacular hat. It’s a very intriguing idea.

“Oh, I’ve been watching _The Crown_ whenever one of the recently deceased has a full episode in their hell loop. And I pop in to torture Churchill from time to time, which really is quite informative.”

Even while he is talking, Trell is gesturing instructions to the cowering demons nearby to clean up the exploded toad mess and get the harpies under control.

“I see. And you’re making a bid to be Prime Minister of hell are you Trell?”

“While one does not seek the office, one has pledged oneself to the service of one's realm,” says Trell. “And if one's friends were to persuade one that that was the best way one could serve, one might reluctantly have to accept the responsibility, whatever one's own private wishes might be.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I do have a list of hell loops with all the episodes of _Yes, Minister _sire. If you haven’t seen it yet.”

This might just work.

***

It feels like many days pass before Amenadiel’s return, which allows time to get down to some proper planning for the future governance of hell – and to make use of some of Trell’s lists of souls whose miserable loops have interesting political dramas playing in the background.

If Trell is planning to double cross him, Lucifer can’t work out how. But just in case, he has made careful note of the various missing episodes of _The West Wing_ (and even worse, missing half episodes) that the demon truly desires.

The plan does still require angelic co-operation and Remy is out of action, Azreal has duties of her own and Amenadiel cannot leave his family. In Earth time, his dinner reservation ekes closer. It seems he will let Chloe down yet again.

At last, the beat of wings heralds the return of Amenadiel – and two other angels. He racks his memory for their names. Jegudiel, Lucifer thinks. And maybe Zadkiel. It has been a very long time.

“Brother!” says the one he thinks is Zadkiel. “Remiel has told us of your plight. How hard the task is and how unfair it is that you have borne it so long alone.”

“We would take your place for a while,” says the other. “So you may complete your rest and recuperation.”

“I thought if there were two of them, they could keep each other company,” says Amenadiel. “Remy’s feeling a bit better, but it’s clear this place is tough for angels.”

“Well, yes.” Lucifer bites back a thousand pointless retorts about how long overdue this interest in helping him out is, because not one of them will get him back to LA any quicker. Instead he introduces Trell and explains that the demon will handle any day-to-day matters during their tenure and will answer any questions about their new environment. All they need do is be at hand to summon him in an emergency.

“Don’t smite anything,” he concludes and then stretches his wings.

He makes it in time for dinner -- just. If the restaurant has any complaints about the devil wearing flip flops and getting ash on their pristine table cloths, his generous tip more than makes up for it.

And Chloe smiles at him across the table like he’s brought her the moon.


	3. Chapter 3

Even from the parking lot outside the venue, Lucifer can feel the concentrated level of angelic presence. There probably haven’t been so many angels in one place on Earth since the incident with the shepherds outside Bethlehem – and he had stayed well away from that occasion.

As they walk towards the gates of the pretty private gardens that Linda has chosen for the naming ceremony, with the urchin skipping along ahead of them, Chloe takes his hand in hers and gives it a little squeeze. It’s astonishing, the boost of reassurance that the small gesture provides.

He is worried though. Amenadiel has promised that only those angels who he absolutely trusts are truly onside with the idea of raising an angel baby on Earth - and who are willing to step up for the whole Hell King support scheme - have been invited. But Amenadiel’s track record as a judge of character isn’t exactly one hundred percent.

Nevertheless, this amounts to half a dozen out of the entire heavenly host, including Remiel, Azreal and Jegudiel. Zadkiel is holding the fort alone in hell for the length of the ceremony, having proven reasonably resilient for the past week. In other circumstances, the small number would perhaps be a disappointing turn out for something so important to the oldest of angels, but from Lucifer’s point of view, after millennia of being despised by every single one of his siblings, it’s an overwhelming amount of familial care.

As soon as they step through the door, however, it’s obvious that Lucifer is not currently even in the running for ‘worst heavenly sibling’, as far as the angel guests are concerned. Because they are huddled together, visibly seething at the sight of Baby Charlie being bounced on the knee of his Auntie Maze, who is chatting with Linda while Amenadiel watches them with a soft look of love.

“I’ve got your back,” murmurs Chloe.

“Right,” says Lucifer, rolling his shoulders and straightening to his full height in what he hopes looks something like the total confidence he would normally exude as the genial and charismatic host of Lux. “Here we go…Remiel! How good to see you looking better.”

\----

Late afternoon finds Lucifer sitting on the wall outside the venue, rolling an empty piece of paper between his fingers. He has made his promises to Charlie, Amenadiel has said nice things about him in front of an audience, his siblings have made polite, awkward small talk with the humans and hesitant but not hostile conversation with himself. 

It has been, all in all, an understated emotional rollercaster of a day. He crumples the empty non-cigarette in his fist. 

“You’re quitting?” asks Daniel as he approaches carrying a beer bottle.

“Have quit. Can’t bear the taste of ash anymore.”

Daniel fixes him with a considering look, far more sympathetic than the simple abandonment of Lucifer’s nicotine habit merits.

“Look man,” he says after a long moment. “I wanted to say thank you. For your service. I, er, I get that you can’t talk about it and Amenadiel probably shouldn’t have said anything…”

“What did Amenadiel say?” asks Lucifer, vaguely recalling that Linda had said something about Daniel now believing he worked for MI6.

“That Control or God or M or whatever weird codename you Bond-types call the boss had called you out of your American retirement and back to ‘Hell’. Special mission, only you could do it, save the world from the worst of the worst, that kind of thing.”

Ah.

“He didn’t tell us operational details or anything but, I watch the news Lucifer. I know there’s been some hairy shit going on out there. We were worried for you. All of us were. I don’t know what you’ve saved us all from, but whatever it is, I’m grateful.”

“Cheers, Daniel.” Weirdly, this version of where he’s been hits close enough to reality that the thanks feel genuine.

“Gotta say, it made sense of a lot of stuff from the past few years. So, retirement plan back on then?”

“Not quite yet. But I hope so Daniel, I really hope so.”

“You’ve not given up drinking too, I hope,” says Daniel waggling his now empty bottle and gesturing to suggest they head back inside together in search of refreshment.

“That I certainly have not.”

\---

Maze visits on the morning of the final day of his holiday.

“You’re going back?” she asks, without any preceding pleasantries.

“Just to make sure the new arrangements will work,” he says. “It’ll only be a few days up here, but long enough to make sure the Angel Volunteers are all able to cope and that Trell has a handle on the practicalities.”

Maze shrugs at this, which Lucifer takes as a massive vote of confidence in his prime minister.

“Do you want to…” the question he was about to ask tails off as Maze is already shaking her head. On one level he’s sorry for it, he’d have been glad of the company for this trip. But he is trying to be tactful, so he switches tack. “Do you want me to fetch you anything?” 

She grins. “Can you deliver this for me?”

She holds out an envelope, which appears to be made of real parchment and is addressed in formal Lilim to “Ekosh’Trellion, chief minister in lowly service to the Crown of the Devil Most Infernal, Lucifer, King Eternal of Hell and all its Dominions.”

Lucifer smiles at the pointed reminder to Trell of his place in the order of things.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Letter to my political representative, of course. It’s about damn time there was proper regulation of hell-forged steel quality. There are way too many brittle blades out there.”

“You’re lobbying Trell?”

“Sure.” Maze hesitates. “You think I should throw in some kind of bribe?”

The question gives him a moment’s pause. Modern demonic politics will surely involve a healthy dose of corruption, he supposes, and he wouldn’t begrudge Trell the sleazier benefits of high office. But there’s no question that graft can complicate loyalties. 

Delegating responsibility for his kingdom involves a lot more worry than abdicating.

However, Maze is already chattering about whipping up a batch of brownies for him to take down along with the letter. There’s something remarkably cockle-warming about the idea of demons sending each other drug-laced baked goods and campaigning for metallurgy improvements, he thinks.

\----

They say goodbye on the penthouse balcony – again.

It isn’t that the location has any particular advantage as a jumping off point for leaving the Earthly realm, but it’s a way of reclaiming the space from the horrible memory of that night.

This time they are prepared and although parting is still all the sweet sorrow it’s cracked up to be, they are optimistic that this time it is merely a necessary business trip, nothing more than heading to a week-long conference in New York. Couples do this kind of thing all the time, right?

He isn’t going empty-handed this time either. In his holdall he has the complete West Wing box set for Trell, a large technical volume on geothermal energy to drop off at the workshops on Jegudiel’s suggestion, Maze’s letter and brownies and, importantly, three full clinking bottles of good single malt to help him deal with lengthy contact with his siblings.

“Do you have room for a few more things?” asks Chloe, bringing a polka-dotted giftbag out from where it was ill-concealed behind her back.

“Ooh presents!” he exclaims. “What do we have here?”

He doesn’t really have many physical needs in Hell. His fine clothes are meaningless there and he plans to be back here as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, he is thrilled at the thought of having some tangible connection to Chloe with him down there – in addition to the stolen underwear he has tucked away in his pocket, of course.

In the bag there are ear defenders – stylish luxury ones from a motor-racing team rather than some clunky construction site monstrosities – a selection of his favourite vending machine snacks and a soft grey travel neck pillow.

“It’s for… your big throne spire sounded very uncomfortable… I wasn’t sure…”

“I love it. All of it.”

And there’s a crown.

It’s not a clumsy effort, an attractive circlet of silvered cardboard, partially decorated with twinkling plastic gem stickers. However, these evidently ran out about two thirds of the way around, so the remaining decorative stickers include doughnuts, strawberries and one prancing unicorn.

“That’s from Trixie,” clarifies Chloe, although its provenance is fairly obvious. He puts it on and it’s a good fit -- which is unsurprising, he realises, since the sneaky spawn measured his head the previous day under the guise of some implausible game she had claimed to be playing.

He has been considering commissioning a new crown to mark this new phase in Hell’s monarchical history, but nothing will better this.

Chloe gives it a wry, considering look. “You’re not actually going to wear it in front of the demon hordes, are you?”

“Of course! I know, it’s hardly Cartier but most demons don’t have the keenest aesthetic awareness. And don’t worry, they won’t mock the workmanship, especially once I tell them it was fashioned by Mazikeen’s protégé.”

They gaze at each other for a long moment and he can see the tears brimming in Chloe’s eyes, just as he can feel his own throat tighten with emotion. But this parting is supposed to be different.

He coughs. “So…”

“You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be better once it’s over with. It’s a hell of a commute.”

They both attempt a laugh at the limp joke.

“I’d say call me to let me know you arrived safely, but…”

He reaches for her and they share a tender kiss, a solemn promise, a quiet hope.

“I’ll see you soon,” she tells him.

He nods. His wings spread wide. He straightens the cardboard crown on his brow. And he returns to Hell.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the very long delay in posting this final chapter, having mislaid a previous nearly-finished draft during this whole 'working from home on different computers' palaver. Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in the fandom and the first fiction I've written this year. Hi everyone!
> 
> Part 2 is almost done and I do know how it ends. But I'll be travelling all next week so I don't know how much chance I'll get to post or reply to comments straight away.


End file.
